Names and Faces
by Ergo Ipso Facto
Summary: FE9 It's been a few months since he left the Greil Mercenaries, and Shinon has some thinking to do. Oneshot, pre chapter 18.


His face wasn't _that_ forgettable.

Unlike certain knights who had to pause, grin rakishly, and flex their muscles every time they passed a reflective surface, who actually owned their own mirrors and who bailed out on you for highborn Begnion skirts, he hadn't memorized it, but it couldn't be that bad. Sure, he slouched, and he'd overheard the tightfisted proprietor of this miserable little inn muttering about his alleged "shifty eyes," but the innkeeper was an idiot. "Unsavory types about," were there? Maybe that was because _there was a war on_. Besides, the fool couldn't expect anyone with two gold pieces to rub together to put up here willingly. It had snowed three days ago and the melt was still leaking through the roof with a vengeance.

But the real problem was that he wasn't one of those people with two pieces of gold. Actually, he wasn't one of those with any money at all. He'd made it last as best he could – staying here, for instance. If he'd known he wouldn't have a job by the time he ran out, he would've gone someplace nicer.

He'd known it wouldn't be easy, sure. There was a reason mercenaries worked better in companies, when those companies weren't run by Ike. He'd respected Greil, trusted him, but the man had had a huge blind spot where his bratty offspring were concerned. And then he had to go getting himself killed, and that untested whelp –

_Well, there's gratitude for you._ They were all probably dead, if Titania had gone along with this madness. Gatrie's new noble girlfriend was probably just another con artist. Whatever. Shinon scanned the room, almost glad he was broke and he'd never have to see it again. He'd tried loitering in some of the nicer hotels a few times but had been summarily thrown out, never mind finding any business. That was the other real problem. He'd put the word out, he'd done everything right, he was _the best shot in the civilized world._ And everyone who might be worth bothering with looked right through him. Fine. He wasn't going to beg. They were going to have to come to him. And then he might say "no" out of simple spite, because he deserved better than this. Or at least entertain the notion, because he didn't enjoy poverty all that much.

There was nothing wrong with his face, dammit! There was no reason for no one to have approached. He was an elite mercenary, and this was Daein. He could be in any of ten much less snowy places right now, but he'd thought his chances would be better here. Obviously he'd overestimated Daein's desire for an actually competent fighting force. Hell if he was going back to Crimea, though. Daein was going to win, whether he was a part of it or not – Soren had at least been right about that. Crimea was probably overrun by Gallian beast-men by now, and he didn't want anything to do with a country run by Ike's supposed princess anyway. Had he ever even stopped to wonder why, if Elincia really was a princess, none of them had heard of her before? The boy was just _stupid. _Or maybe not. There was something very neat about the sudden appearance of a woman of mystery who called him "my lord" and got them all involved in stupid battles, and who also gave him an excuse to take over the company… But he was definitely dead, Shinon decided; they all were.

Even Rolf?

Well, he'd been a crybaby anyway. A good student, but his brothers were so obsessed with keeping him out of harm's way that he'd probably never develop a spine. Families… bah, they were like that. He'd never bought into that particular saying of Greil's. "We are family?" Right. And if he'd been skeptical hearing it from someone he could actually stand, Boyd certainly hadn't been in for a wild success. He'd followed them the night of Greil's death, trying to talk them out of leaving, but by the end he'd just been yelling incoherently. Gatrie had wavered, looking like he might want to go back. Shinon had talked him out of it, and for what? They'd ended up separated anyway, and he might as well admit it: Gatrie was probably better off. Some people had all the luck.

"Would the wall fall over without you there to hold it up?" a reedy voice asked at his elbow. He flicked an irritated gaze at its source. An old man, hardly worth answering. He did straighten, though, half-unconsciously. "Ah, so it does stand up! Marvelous!" The man shambled a bit closer and leaned towards him. Shinon leaned away. "So if that's not why you're here, what's the real reason? A strong young man like you – the Daein army's looking for mercenaries to bolster its ranks, you know."

"I know," Shinon said curtly. Then, annoyed with himself for answering in the first place, he added, "So go bore someone else. I don't have time to talk to old buzzards like you."

"Seems to me like you have plenty of time," said the other, but he nevertheless began shuffling away chortling inanely to himself.

He'd nearly woven his way out of sight through the sparse crowd before Shinon, against his principles if not his better judgment, called out, "Wait. Old man."

"So I'm not a buzzard anymore, am I? Thank you, sir; you've brightened an old buzzard-man's day."

That did not deserve a response. "Who do I have to talk to?"

And if the old man was playing him false, or having a senile moment, or if his information was in any way inaccurate, Shinon resolved to come back and kill him.

* * *

It didn't seem to be, which was just as well. He didn't enjoy killing. It was just a way of life – his – so there was no sense in doing it for free. From the looks of it, the Daein army wasn't too picky about whom it let in, either. The soldiers he'd fought, back before Greil's company went all to hell, hadn't been worthy of the name. Utterly expendable. He was no such grunt, and expected to be compensated accordingly. He'd give them a week to catch on, and then… 

Then? Who else was he going to work for? The thought put him briefly off his stride. He wasn't just going to be able to walk away from this one, was he? And this after he'd successfully walked away from the Greil Mercenaries. No, that had been difficult for different reasons, and the issue at stake then had been a matter of principles. Now it was sustenance. Great. Not having options was probably his _favorite thing ever._ He kicked savagely at a rock lying in the street, too annoyed to care who saw that juvenile display of ire.

He'd give them a week, and then he'd start griping. That was about the most he could do, and it was second nature anyway. He knew he'd never get another commander as competent as Greil, so there wouldn't be any silly things like respect to hamper it –

What if they were really bad? As bad as Ike, say? Or worse? He actually stumbled. But leaving hadn't been a mistake. Shinon didn't make mistakes. He was just unlucky, and you could beat bad luck with enough skill, and it didn't bear thinking about anymore. Hell, why not stop thinking altogether? It was just a walk down the street, no need to get all worked up. And about what?

Nothing. Exactly. Life went on.

He'd give them a week.

* * *

He'd given them a week, and by then they'd been so sick of him that they'd shunted him off to some obscure outpost that hadn't seen even a minor skirmish in some twenty years. Another week, and they'd no longer seen fit to pay him just for the pleasure of his company. So he'd been transferred again, to Tor Garen. It was supposedly impregnable, but on the day of his arrival it was abuzz with rumors of impending battle. 

His superior officer, all self-importance until one of _his_ superior officers came along, confirmed it. "The Crimean army's coming. They won't pose much of a threat. Most of 'em are just mercenaries, not even real soldiers." There had been scattered laughter from the more toadyish members of his audience. "They may be accompanied by some Begnion forces, though. That means pegasus knights, so…" A significant stare in the general direction of the few archers under his command. Shinon had rolled his eyes. Pegasus knights were no problem, if that stupid girl Ike and Gatrie had rescued at Talma was any indication.

He paced along the ramparts. _Crimean army, huh? And mostly mercenaries…_ That meant that Elincia really was the princess, or had at least convinced a lot of people. More importantly, it meant that at least some of the Greil Mercenaries had survived. There was no real reason for this to revive their images in his mind. Things like this happened. He'd told Rolf as much, and worse, often enough, when the boy's eagerness got too grating.

This was no time to be thinking about Rolf. There was no way the kid was ready for mercenary life, and even if some of them had survived, there was no way he could be one of them. Ike was probably alive, just as a cosmic joke. He could fix that soon enough. Titania, definitely; Rhys, possibly; Soren, who cared? Mist, likewise; same for that blue-haired girl Greil had picked up near Meritenne. And Gatrie was alive and well in Begnion. None of their fates concerned him.

Hopefully Rolf had had an easy death.

He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes as if that way he could push useless thoughts out through the back of his head. When he removed them, it was just in time to see a dark shape fly across the sun. One of those filthy sub-humans from Kilvas, he realized. He'd seen his fill of crows over the past few days, and the Daeins hardly seemed to like them any more than he did. Why anyone would ally themselves with sub-humans, he'd never know. One thing was for certain: he wasn't about to let them kill anyone he knew. He'd do it himself. Even Ike deserved better than to be ripped apart by an oversized carrion bird.

Suddenly he wanted nothing as much as to get this over with. He made himself check his equipment again, piece by piece. The cold made wood and bowstrings inflexible and the dry air caused things to crack with no warning. But whatever else you might say about Daein, the army spared few expenses on weaponry, and he'd had time to make some modifications of his own to the bow he'd been provided – _provided_, as if they hadn't even trusted him to requisition his own! At any rate, he was almost disappointed when everything held up to his scrutiny. Now he was going to have to find some other distraction. He was thinking too much lately and he didn't like it.

As an archer, he was always subconsciously aware of the weather. Now he made himself concentrate on it. It was cloudy, snowing lightly, the wind blowing gently eastward. Visibility wasn't too much diminished by the snow, and Daein commanded the high ground. Everything that wasn't white stood out bleakly against the mountainside. At present the sun was a hazy disk just below its zenith. Early afternoon. Daylight hours were limited, and most armies wouldn't press the attack uphill, after dark, in unfamiliar territory. That was the sensible ones, though. He didn't know how much sense they ought to expect from Ike.

Another black form passed over him. Wyvern. The rest of a unit of Daein's famed wyvern riders followed. They made for the forest to the east. That way enemy horses or pegasi wouldn't be able to pick up the acrid smell of their scales on the wind. Shinon followed them with his eyes, pondering. If the Crimean army was "not much of a threat," why waste wyvern riders on it? Ah, well. Maybe they were making an example.

"The enemy has been spotted! To your positions!" someone shouted. Shinon looked out over the parapets – he couldn't see anything. No, there was something moving near the foot of the mountain. The wyvern riders must have seen it, or possibly the crows. He looked harder. Yes, it was a lot of somethings, _possibly_ an army. It somehow offended him that the fliers had been able to see and identify it before he could.

As for getting into position, there was no real rush. All of Daein's commanding officers were somewhat deranged, in his experience. Speaking of which, there was the pompous ass in charge of Tor Garen now. He was a mage, possibly snottier than Soren, and Shinon had forgotten his name already. Other soldiers stood by and saluted as he passed. Not Shinon. He deserted his vantage point and walked right by.

"You there! Halt!"

He turned, looking as unimpressed as he could manage and not half as unimpressed as he actually was. Nothing about the commander demanded or even politely requested respect, least of all his froglike voice. There would never be another Greil.

The commander put his head on one side and appraised Shinon quickly. "You're an unfamiliar face."

_And? _Shinon would have walked away then had his path not been blocked by several mortified Daeins. Instead he flipped the loose strands of hair from his eyes and said flatly, "You'll know it soon enough."

* * *

**A/N: **I couldn't get anywhere with chapter 2 of Archrival because I had Shinon on the brain. This should take care of that. Hope it wasn't too terrible. 

Thanks for reading.


End file.
